


Southern Charm

by katsukii



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! GX
Genre: Awkward Crush, M/M, Rare Pairings, This Is STUPID, jewelshipping - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:40:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22141192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsukii/pseuds/katsukii
Summary: Jun and Johan go to a bar together. What could go wrong?
Relationships: Johan Andersen | Jesse Anderson & Manjoume Jun | Chazz Princeton, Johan Andersen | Jesse Anderson/Manjoume Jun | Chazz Princeton
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19





	1. I

If Jun could recount everything that led him to this bar, he would have more of a headache than his soon-to-be hangover could cause.

He is sitting alone at a booth, his second toasted caramel whiskey looking suddenly less appetizing as the lights dim and fear floods his nervous system - which he thinks is quite aptly named, because nervous is only just the beginning of what he’s feeling as he watches Johan Andersen sashay between tables, headed dead for the karaoke stand. His chest feels like it’s imploding in on itself, a crushing weight bringing him hunkering down over the finely polished oak table. Jun is practically curling in on himself, shrinking as far down as his long legs will let him go, cheeks rising with the scorching heat of secondhand embarrassment. This can only end terribly.

He sighs; his breath casts a thin film of fog on his glass. His crush on Johan is anything but subtle. Each sideways glance he receives, each brush of a hand against his own or friendly clap on the shoulder sends his stomach into fits of fluttering and twisting. And while Jun is no expert on insects, there is one thing he knows about butterflies. They don’t belong in his chest.

He watches with nerves of pins and needles as Johan steps up onto the stage and promptly begins scrolling through a far-too expansive list of songs. With each selection that doesn’t meet his expectations, Jun feels himself grow more queasy. Nimble fingers push away his toasted caramel whiskey. Not even the warm scent of alcohol - nor the mind numbing qualities it possesses - are comforting to him now. This is happening.

He tries to prepare himself, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever be ready.

“Alright, y’all, so - I’d like to dedicate this song to someone out in the crowd!” comes Johan’s booming voice through the microphone, which he is holding too close to his mouth. The words are breathy and filled with mic feedback, and at least a quarter of the people in the bar wince. Jun just barely catches the reaction - Johan’s embarrassed, sheepish smile - and instantaneously he feels the heat slam his cheeks like a brutish sucker punch. Johan is so effortlessly endearing, and Jun hates it. He hates that he finds him attractive, hates his drawl and odd phrases, hates the little laugh he does when he makes a minor mistake. He hates it all.

And he hates karaoke.

“You know who you are,” Johan adds, after adjusting the proximity of the microphone to his face. His voice is smooth now, echoing in Jun’s ears from every angle. He feels surrounded - damned be the speakers in this place - and he draws in a preparatory deep, slow breath. His eyes close, and he misses a wink from Johan before the bass begins and the television screen lights up with a green hue.

“Friday night beneath the stars in a field behind your yard, you and I are paintin’ pictures in the sky…” he begins, a goofy look on his face as heads turn and someone whoops from the corner of the bar. If he’s embarrassed, he does a hell of a job hiding it. Jun is mildly impressed.

“And sometimes we don’t say a thing, just listen to the crickets sing. Everything I need is right here by my side…”

Jun’s heart pounds. He feels quite like throwing up, but manages to stomach the repulsion that creeps up his throat. This is stupid.

“And I know everything about you; I don’t wanna live without you!”

He falters, straightens his spine. It’s just a random song, he tells himself. Don’t get your hopes up that it means anything.

“I’m only up when you’re not down, don’t wanna fly if you’re still on the ground, it’s like, no matter what I do,” Johan continues, and Jun isn’t at all aware that cold sweat is dripping down his back or that he’s gripping his microphone so tightly his knuckles are turning white. “Well, you drive me crazy half the time…”

Jun snorts. He can surely say the same.

“The other half I’m only tryin’ to let you know that what I feel is true -” Johan pauses, scratches the back of his neck with his free hand. Eyes, from everywhere in the room, are locked on him. “Aw, gosh. Y’all are makin’ me nervous.” Johan giggles into the microphone, and a supportive cheer ripples through the crowd. But with all the stares he’s getting, Johan is only looking at one person. And when Jun makes eye contact with him, his heart drops.

Johan swallows a lump in his throat and finishes the line. “And I’m only me when I’m with you.”

Jun gives an obligatory eye roll, but the second Johan turns his attention back to the crowd, Jun doubles over the table and stares at his distorted reflection in the whiskey glass with wild eyes. Of course Johan would choose some bogus southern song, but the lyrics punch him in the chest with such fervor he would be less surprised if Obelisk the Tormentor came and smacked him into yesterday. He shuts out the sound, shuts out the lights, shuts out everything and hears only the roaring of blood in his ears.

He doesn’t even realize the song is over until the shrill sound of whooping and cheering pierces his eardrums, and he raises his head from the table to look at a red-faced Johan, who looks like he’s having trouble catching his breath.

“Thanks, y’all! You lot are makin’ me happier n’ a pig in sunshine,” Johan says, beaming as he wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. He replaces the microphone in its stand and clambers down the stage with some difficulty, too caught up in smiling at the residual clappers and grinning faces to take much notice of his own feet. His clumsiness sends another wave of heat rushing throughout Jun’s body, and he busies himself with his drink as a distraction. The burn of alcohol sliding down his throat is the only heat he welcomes with open arms, and it seems that once again, he can take comfort in it.

Johan shuffles his way over to Jun’s booth, which is located in the farthest corner of the bar, closest to the bathrooms and emergency exit. It’s tucked away, presumably so Jun can avoid the other people in the bar, and while Johan would much prefer to socialize, he isn’t one to jeopardize Jun’s comfort. So he slides into the seat across from Jun, flags down a waiter, and orders a rum and coke.

“What’d ya think, Jun?” he asks as soon as the waiter notes his order and makes haste towards the bar.

“Of?”

“My song, silly!”

“Right.” Jun scowls, but it’s only because he doesn’t want to give away his nervousness. “It didn’t suck, I guess. Figures you’d pick something southern.”

“Aw, hey! No need to do me like that,” Johan teases, reaching across the table to sample some of Jun’s drink. His hand is still on the glass, and their fingers brush as Johan pries the cup from his grip. Jun shudders and looks elsewhere, focusing on an elderly couple that, apparently inspired by Johan, is getting up to do karaoke.

The waiter comes by with Johan’s rum and coke, and he smiles politely and issues a “thanks very much, sir!” Jun groans and slumps into his seat.

“That song was just for you, you know. Been practicin’ it in my spare time, if you can believe it! Whew, never thought I’d work up the nerve to sing in fronta so many people!” Johan seems mildly pleased with himself, and Jun can scarcely blame him. Knowing himself, he would never do such a thing in private, much less in public.

“Was your southern charm supposed to affect me?” Jun asks, pressing his lips into a flat line as Johan ignores his rum and coke and sips more of Jun’s whiskey.

“Hoo-ee that’s strong!” Johan declares, setting the glass down with a clunk and shaking his head. His bangs flop around with the motion; Jun snorts.

“Anywho, you think I’ve got southern charm? Well don’t that just make me as happy as a tick on a fat dog!”

Jun groans and takes back his whiskey before Johan can help himself to it again. “Not what I meant.”

“Course not. Hey, you want some of my drink? It’s only fair since I took yours without askin’.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself, pal.”

Pal? Jun’s heart sinks, and so does his body, sliding further down into the plush leather of his seat as he rolls his eyes as far back into his head as possible. It was stupid to think the song meant anything. It was just Johan being Johan, singing some southern staple that everyone probably knew. Jun’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. He really thought it might’ve been something. Still, his mind races - Johan  _ did  _ say he practiced it specially for him. Was that anything to go off of? Or was it just another instance of Johan being a little  _ too _ friendly and a little  _ too  _ motivated? He shakes his head, clearing the thoughts like an unwelcome cloud of smoke. It doesn’t matter.

“You alright there, Jun?” Johan asks, cocking an eyebrow as he watches the other duelist sink into his chair like a pile of jelly.

“Peachy.”

“I’m just checkin’ on you is all. Hey, you hungry? I know a great restaurant that’s open twenty-four hours. Staff there’s practically like family for me. I reckon they’d let us eat free!”

Jun shifts in his seat. He’s comfortable and doesn’t quite want to leave the bar, but at the mention of food, he can’t deny the growling in his stomach. Sure, the bar serves food, but he isn’t feeling up to eating anything fried or spicy. His shoulders arch as he draws in a breath.

“Sure. Where?”

Johan chuckles, as if amused. “Just trust me, Jun. You’ll see!”

Jun does not entirely trust his decision-making, this coming from a man who rarely thinks before he speaks and frequents all of the fast food joints enough for his phone to think he works at all of them. But he doesn’t have many other options aside from staying and drinking on his own or going home to drink on his own. So he polishes off his whiskey with a cringe - too much at once - and rises from his seat.

“You coming?”

“Sure thing!” Johan sucks down his rum and coke with all the speed of a college student and grins as he sets down the empty glass. “It’s close enough to walk. Shall we?” He follows suit and stands, offering his elbow, which Jun swats away with a grimace.

“Let’s just go. I’m hungry.”

“Alright, grump. C’mon.”

Johan leaves a hearty tip for the waiter before departing the table with Jun in tow, who admittedly feels guilty about letting Johan handle the tip on his own, but is not willing to do anything to change it. Ever the gentleman, he thinks. He’ll tip at the restaurant to make it even.

“After you,” Johan says, offering a pleasant smile as he pushes open the bar doors for Jun to walk through. He grunts in acknowledgement and passes through, already drawing his coat tighter around his thin body even before the winter cold assaults his exposed skin. Johan casts one last glance into the bar, surveys the elderly couple on stage dancing and singing, and chuckles. A relationship like that must be a rare find, he thinks. It’s beautiful.

“Are you going to stand and gawk forever or are we going to go?”

“We’re goin’, we’re goin’. Just follow me.”

Jun rolls his eyes. “This better be worth the third whiskey I could’ve had.”

“It will be. Besides, you lightweight, you don’t need more alcohol in you.”

“Ever tried shutting up?”

Johan guffaws. His breath crystallizes in the air in front of him.

“Charmin’ as ever, Jun. Let’s go.”

It’s Jun who shuts up as the two walk, Johan on the left, Jun on the right, closest to the street. Cars rush by in twos and threes, sending gales of bitterly cold wind biting through Jun’s coat. He begins to rub his hands together for warmth, but stops when he feels a shoulder press against his own. In that moment, he thanks a god he doesn’t believe in and revels in the shared warmth and closeness of him and Johan, who is whistling a happy tune as he struts along, blissfully unaware.

His lungs are chilled each time he draws a breath, and this one is longer and deeper than the others. His body shakes, but it isn't from the cold.

This crush will be the end of him, and he will swear by it. 


	2. II

Of all the places he could’ve guessed to end up at, a Waffle House was not one of them.

It is not impressive. The exterior of the building is about as ramshackle as a structure can get without threatening to cave in on itself. Eggshell paint is peeling off of bricks, a red canopy is rusting and losing its color. Windows look foggy with fingerprints and various other smudges that Jun does not want to question - perhaps for the better. The lettering on the side of the restaurant is a dirty and, in his opinion, gaudy yellow, too harsh for Jun’s tastes, and one or more of the bulbs needs changing; the W and L flicker at quick intervals, casting dancing shadows down the damp street. Still, despite the decrepit outward appearance, the inside glows with a homely warmth and people swarm the seats, bickering over coffee or otherwise stuffing their faces with their meals.

Jun wishes he’d had another drink.

“Well, here we are! Best place in the whole city! And with the nicest staff too. They really do treat ya like family here,” Johan says, smile betraying pride as he places his hands on his hips and puffs out his chest. The display is an interesting one. That Johan could take such delight in a place of this caliber is either extremely characteristic of him or actually surprising, and Jun cannot place his finger on which it is.

He snorts indignantly. “We walked-” Jun delves a hand into his pocket, extracts his phone and clicks it on to check the time, “-twenty minutes in the freezing cold for a Waffle House?” His eyes narrow as he shoots Johan a look, nose wrinkling at the bridge.

“Yep! Told ya it would be good,” Johan replies, clearly oblivious to Jun’s frustration. “I come here about every other week. Er, maybe even every week. Look, I promise you, you’re gonna love it. And they’ve got some right good coffee. You look like you could use a pick-me-up.”

_ Or alcohol.  _ “Whatever.”

Without thinking of the implications, Johan takes a firm hold of Jun’s hand and begins to drag him towards the double doors, a cheery smile on his face. His cheeks and ears have flushed red from the cold, subtle beneath his tanned skin, and Jun thinks it is quite the becoming look for him. Of course, he hates himself for thinking this - how dare this man be attractive - and forces a bitter scowl which reaches his eyes as he trails behind Johan.

Johan pushes on a door that looks suspiciously like it was intended to be pulled, and the wafting comfort scent of sugar, eggs, and - sausage? - hits Jun’s nostrils. He inhales deeply, drinking in the aroma; it is warm and pleasant, not unlike Johan, and perhaps this  _ does  _ seem like the kind of place he would make a second home of. Johan releases Jun’s hand to stretch his arms above his head, a motion that looks very much like someone at peace with where he is. Jun, not wanting to look too out of place, busies himself with his phone. There are a few messages from Judai, who is presumably drunk, based on the spelling. Not that spelling was ever Judai’s forte.

_ junn im sob ored _

_ jun shoou is makign me go BOWLING _

_ okauy askua and fubuki r goin too this iss go0d _

_ meat us there or PERISH _

Jun snorts and pockets his phone. He decides he’ll ask Johan after they eat if he wants to go bowling or perish.

“Doesn’t it just smell great? Shucks, I don’t even know what I’m in the mood for.”

_ Alcohol.  _ “A waffle?”

“You know they have stuff other n’ waffles, Jun?”

“So get something other than a waffle.”

“Here, let’s have a seat before someone else up and steals it. Want one by the window?”

Jun cringes. The windows need serious cleaning. “No.”

“Okay. Booth by the kitchen it is!” Johan declares, and he waves hello at several waiters, waitresses, and even customers as he picks his way overtop of outstretched legs and dropped forks. Jun follows suit, trying his best to suppress the urge to kick said outstretched legs because, hell, it’s entertaining. He manages to stomach his desires long enough for him to reach the table, where he promptly plops on the soft seat and sinks into it. It’s little different material than the booth at the bar, except this table is - what, some kind of linoleum-esque wood? Not oak, for sure. Something lighter and shinier. Birch?

A middle-aged waitress drops by promptly, bringing with her menus and utensils. Her name tag is smudged, and Jun can scarcely make out the lettering. He squints, as if that will help him decipher the name, but he can glean little more than an M.

“Hey, Maki!” Johan chirps, eyes lighting up as he looks at the woman.

“Oh, Johan! So good to see you again. Who’s this?”

“This is Jun. He’s a good friend of mine. Not the sweetest apple in the orchard but he’s real fun once you get to know him,” Johan replies, sending a teasing wink in Jun’s direction. He glares.

“Well, it’s lovely to meet you! What can I get you two to drink?”

“Aw, you know me. Just an orange juice,” Johan says, grinning from ear to ear.

“And you, sweetheart?”

“Coffee. Black.”

“Sure thing, dear. I’ll be back with those in a minute!”

Maki jots down the orders on her yellow notepad and trots off, a jovial, rather youthful bounce to her step as she goes. Johan is still smiling, and he directs his attention once again to a displeased Jun, who is sitting with his arms crossed and his eyebrows drawn close together.

“Why the face, Jun?”

“How are you so peppy all the time? It’s exhausting.”

Johan scratches the back of his neck. “Gee, I’m not sure. Just like that, I reckon. Sure beats being glum all the time. Ain’t that a lot of energy?”

“No.”

“Takes more muscles to frown than to smile, pal.”

“My face is stronger than yours then.”

Johan snorts. “Guess so!”

Jun doesn’t say anything else until Maki returns with their drinks, during which he breaks his spell of silence to grumble a low ‘thank you.’ She asks if they are ready or if they need more time, and Jun promptly orders a simple chocolate chip waffle, while Johan orders a blueberry waffle and a side of eggs - over-easy, which both he and Maki say at the same time. They each laugh, and Maki bows slightly before leaving to relay the order to the kitchen. Jun finds himself wondering how well these two know each other. He’s almost jealous that Johan has so many connections. Almost.

“So, what’s the plan for the evening? We partin’ ways after this?”

Jun shifts awkwardly in his seat. “Judai invited me to midnight bowling with Shou, Asuka, and Fubuki.”

“Hey, that sounds fun!”

“I’ll let him know we’re coming if you want to go.”

“Shucks, you’d let me tag along! Well, that’s just peachy. I’d sure love to.”

Jun whips out his phone and reads his newest message.

_ r u a loSer or r u comighn _

He types back a quick reply.

_ you’re on. _

His phone returns to his pocket and his eyes return to Johan, who is watching the kitchen staff shuffle around like an excited child at the zoo. The corners of Jun’s lips twitch up into the faintest of smiles.

Maki comes by while Jun is staring, and he snaps himself from his daze. She is balancing three plates on one hand, which Jun admits is a rather impressive feat, and she is smiling good-naturedly. As she sets down each plate, she names them as she goes - “one chocolate chip waffle for our Jun, one blueberry waffle, and one over-easy egg for our dear Johan.” She winks at Jun before she leaves, and he wonders if she caught him staring.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Johan says as she scurries off to the next table to collect dirty plates and bring them to the dish pit. “Looks pretty good, huh?”

Jun has to admit, it does look appetizing right about now. He knows sugar pairs awfully with alcohol, only making the hangover worse, but he’s too hungry to care about that right now. He picks up his fork and attacks the waffle, cutting into its side ferociously. Johan chuckles as he salts his eggs.

“Hungry much?”

“Ravenous.”

“Well, I brought you to the right place.” Johan smiles, cuts into his egg. He eats slowly, whereas Jun shovels food into his face like he hasn’t eaten all day - which, for the most part, he hasn’t. He had managed to stave off his hunger with whiskey for a while, but now, with the sweet scent of chocolate permeating the air, he cannot deny that he is  _ very  _ hungry.

He downs his waffle before Johan has even cut into his own.

“Wanna share?” Johan offers, and Jun is very keen to take him up on it. He cuts off a quarter of the waffle for himself, making sure to have a hearty pile of blueberries on top, and begins eating straight away, melting at the sweetness of the blueberries mixed with maple syrup. His eyes betray his contentment, and Johan can see it. He smiles. It’s the first time he’s seen Jun at peace in a long while.

They eat in silence, Johan eyeing Jun throughout the duration. He looks so serene, pale features lit up by the amber lights, grey eyes clear of the storm clouds that usually brew within them. And Johan realizes he’s rather cute. Very cute, actually. He directs his attention to his waffle.

When they’re finished, Johan makes a move to reach for his wallet, but Jun lifts a hand.

“I’ve got it.” He takes their ticket to the front register, pays for their meal with his credit card, and returns to the table with a tip of 550 yen. “Let’s go. Judai is getting impatient. He keeps spam texting asking if I’m there yet, and his spelling is abysmal. I can’t take it anymore.”

Johan laughs. “We walking there?”

“We’ll uber. It’s halfway across town.”

“Want me to pay for it?”

“Only if I can pay for bowling.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal!” Johan declares, sticking his right hand out. Slowly, Jun extends his own, takes the proffered appendage and shakes it. Johan seems pleased by this and draws his lips up into a grin.

Johan pulls out his phone, taps the uber app and opens it. “What’s the address?”

“Here, I’ll type it in.” Johan hands the phone over to Jun, who quickly keys in the address of the bowling alley that Judai somehow managed to spell correctly. He wonders if Shou was the one to type it.

“Okey-dokey, looks like the uber will be here in about five minutes,” Johan says once he receives his phone back. “We’re looking for a ‘Haruto S.’”

Jun settles back into his seat, arms folding over his chest by force of habit. “Guess we’ll sit here and wait.”

“Sure thing. Hey, wanna listen to some music? I made a new playlist on Spotify. I think you’ll like it.” Johan slides into the seat next to Jun, retrieves a pair of earbuds from his pocket. They are warm, Jun notes, as he takes the left earbud and sticks it in his ear. Johan’s shoulder presses into his as they huddle together, listening.

All Jun can hear is his own heart racing in time to the music.


	3. III

The uber arrives six minutes later, and Jun gives Johan an earful about how he was so absolutely certain it would be five on the dot. Johan relents, mostly to appease Jun, who is marginally pleased with himself for guessing the time would be, in fact, longer than five minutes, and I told you so, no one’s ever on time.

The two say their goodbyes to the staff - mostly Johan, who is waving to everyone and throwing out “bye, y’all!”s like it’s going out of style. Jun merely grunts a ‘thank you’ before making a beeline to the door, which  _ really  _ looks like it should be pushed instead of pulled. He makes the mistake of pushing, becomes rather cross when the door won’t open, and growls a string of curses as Johan steps by to  _ pull  _ the door open - “it says it right there, pard.”

He refuses to speak to Johan throughout the entire ten minute trip. Not that it matters, since Johan has long since struck up a conversation with Haruto S. and has become completely swept away by talk of beekeeping and other dull activities. Jun loses track of how many times he rolls his eyes. He stopped counting at seven.

The bowling alley is more impressive than the Waffle House, which isn’t saying much. Despite its proper lighting and non-smudged windows, it’s tucked away between a flurry of nightclubs, bars, and restaurants, squished between larger buildings and looking rather cramped in comparison. There are other bowling alleys - he knows this; there  _ has  _ to be - but this one gives the appearance of a cheaper play and less populous crowd, which would make sense as to why Shou selected it. He’s good at budgeting for Judai, something the brunette has never learned to do. Plus, the alcohol is certainly cheaper here. And Judai isn’t picky.

Jun procures his phone from its nesting place in his right pocket and keys a quick message.

_ we’re here. _

He always uses punctuation, without fail. Judai has told him more than once that it’s intimidating and makes him seem angry all the time. Which, to some extent, he is.

Jun is about to pocket the device, but is stopped by a sudden buzz. Judai never responds that quickly. He cocks an eyebrow, checks the glowing screen.

_ lolol juun, whos we? _

_ i thoght we were ur only friedns lololol _

His face sets into a scowl and he shoves the phone deep into his coat.

“We gonna stand out here n’ freeze all night or are we here to bowl?” Johan asks, seeming very much like he would enjoy escaping the bitter wind that is attacking his face and hands.

“Yeah.” Johan isn’t sure which part of the question Jun is answering, and he wouldn’t really be surprised if it was the ‘we’re going to die out here because of the winter cold’ part. But when Jun begins to walk towards the entrance, hands shoved into his pockets, lips pursed tightly, he assumes that, yes, they’re going to bowl. So he follows suit, a pep in his step at the prospect of being back in heating once again.

The bowling alley smells strongly of clean wood and old shoes. Johan waves a hand in front of his nose dramatically.

“Hoo-ee! Yep, sure smells like bowling to me.”

“Gross.”

“Hey, it’s not all bad. They’ve got beers n’ the like.”

Jun considers this, nods in agreement. “True. Let’s get our shoes before Judai sees us. I bet we can scare him.”

“Ooh, devious aren’t ya? I’m in.” Johan grins, holds a finger to his lips in a ‘shush’ way, and tiptoes to the rental stand as if that’s going to make him any less noticeable. Jun snorts, drags his feet as he follows him.

By the time he gets there, Johan is already chatting up the rental assistant, who looks very much tired and very much like he would rather not be interacting with someone so jovial. All of his responses are curt, and he’s trying his damndest to find a window of opportunity to ask what size shoe Johan is going to be needing. Jun almost feels sorry for the guy.

He decides to step in and play the hero.

“Move,” Jun grumbles as he places a hand on Johan’s chest and pushes him away from the stand. “Size 8. And.” He turns to Johan, who feigns hurt.

“10.”

“And a 10, please.”

“You got it.” The employee looks almost relieved as he ducks behind the counter to search for their bowling shoes. Jun shoots a look at Johan before donning a fake smile and turning back to the employee. Their shoes rest on the counter, the smaller pair a neutral black - thank god - and the larger pair a strange mix of blue, red, and orange. Johan doesn’t seem to care.

“Thanks,” Jun says, grabbing his pair and departing swiftly. He doesn’t stick around to hear the employee’s routine issue of ‘no problem.’ Johan looks at the worker, who is shrinking back into the stand, desperate to avoid more conversation. He shrugs, takes his shoes and says a polite ‘thank you.’ The employee sighs.

Judai, Shou, and Asuka are at lane 7. Jun eyes the scoreboard, notes that their game is just about finished, which is optimal timing for him and Johan to join in. Not that Jun is particularly excited about bowling, but it’s at least an excuse to drink more and not be alone.

Not that he cares about being alone. Because he doesn’t.

“Go pick out a bowling ball. And grab a light one for me,” Jun says, shooing Johan off in the direction of the bowling racks. He begins to protest, but Jun disappears before he can get the words off his tongue.

Judai is on the floor, sliding around unceremoniously in his bowling shoes as he prepares to roll the ball. He’s winding up, rolling his shoulders around in their sockets, shifting from foot to foot like he’s antsy for the throw.

“I call a strike!” he declares, and points down the alley like he’s pathing his shot. Jun snorts.

“Gutterball!” Jun yells just as Judai releases the ball, and it startles him so much that he throws the ball at an odd angle. It does, in fact, roll straight into the gutter, and Judai groans audibly.

“Jun! You messed up my perfect strategy!”

“Judai? With a strategy?” he retorts, striding towards the group with his bowling shoes in hand. They swing from his fingertips, threatening to fall to the floor. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Glad you could make it, buddy! Thought you were gonna bail on us! Hey, you smell good. Like a waffle.” Judai grins and claps Jun on the shoulder; his shoes drop from his hand.

“You idiot.”

“Whoops! Hey, it’s Asuka’s turn. Watch this. She’s got scary skill.”

Jun does not doubt this, but he’s too busy stooping to pick up his shoes to notice her perfect form as she rolls an effortless strike. Judai whoops, pumping a fist into the air and yelling supportive words.

“What’s all the commotion about?”

Jun looks up; it’s Johan, carrying one green bowling ball in his hand and a purple one tucked under his arm. His shoes are in the opposite hand, and Jun can’t help but laugh at their coloring. They’re truly abysmal.

“Asuka got a strike, apparently,” Jun replies, slipping off his loafers so he can put on his bowling shoes.

“Looks like she’s gonna be tough competition. Her scores are off the charts!” Johan whistles, directing his eyes to the board flashing ‘strike’ above the alleyway. When it disappears, it yields results of several spares and a smattering of strikes. Tough competition indeed, Jun thinks.

Judai turns away from the alley, ochre eyes landing on the new face in the crowd. “Hey, Johan! So you’re the one tagging along with Manjoume Thunder!” Judai is wearing a wide smile; he reaches out for a high-five, only to realize seconds later that Johan’s hands are full.

Nonetheless, Johan is grinning back. “Hey, J!”

“How’d you end up hanging out with Jun?” he asks, evidently quite curious. His eyes are shining; he waves a hand, as if signaling someone to begin the story.

“We went out for drinks,” Jun replies, tone flat. He does not want to elaborate.

“And Waffle House!” Johan adds. He seems to ignore the eyes boring a hole into the side of his head.

“I missed out! You guys are lucky.”

“Next time you should-”

Jun elbows Johan a little too harshly; he winces. Once the pain clears, his mien becomes one of confusion. His head tilts slightly to one side, his shoulders raise in a half shrug. ‘What?’ he mouths to Jun, who is glaring daggers.

‘Later,’ he replies.

Johan is still vexed, but he decides to let it go and focus on the task at hand. Objective: win at bowling. He wipes away his expression and replaces it with a smile, eyes glimmering with the low light of the alley. Jun tries not to stare.

The rounds pass by quickly, each person giving their all in an attempt to best the others. Naturally, Asuka is in the lead, but Johan is a close second with Jun following behind, Shou in fourth, and Judai in dead last. Half the time, Judai is too busy laughing at himself to bowl properly; he gets constant gutterballs and hits of one to two pins, but he’s having such a good time that he can’t bring himself to care. His energy even rubs off onto Jun, who hollers whenever he gets a strike and throws his hands into the air. Johan finds his chest hurting from laughing and his cheeks sore from smiling.

They each down a few beers, except for Shou, who is the designated driver. Judai is clearly drunk; he laughs at everything, cracks stupid, slurred jokes, and staggers about in his slippery shoes. Jun is definitely buzzed, smiling more than he has the entire week combined, even laughing at Judai’s jokes. His face hurts. He’s out of practice. Neither Johan nor Asuka show signs of intoxication, despite having several drinks - and in Johan’s case, stealing sips from Jun’s beers. Everyone is having a hell of a time; Judai ends up chasing Shou around the alley because he can’t get enough of sliding around in his shoes, and Shou, who is mildly distressed, sprints like his life depends on it. Jun wonders if the employee at the rental stand is at all concerned about this display.

Asuka excuses herself to use the restroom. Judai is still racing after Shou, who is heading straight for the arcade. Johan remembers the snippet of a conversation from earlier and decides to seize the opportunity to bring it up again. He turns to Jun, who is downing the last of his Kirin.

“Hey, Jun?”

“Yes?”

“Why wouldn’t you let me invite Judai to come with us?”

Jun blinks lazily. “What?”

“When we were talking about Waffle House. I tried to invite him next time and you elbowed me in the shin.”

He remembers. “Yeah, well.” His words are slightly slurred as he speaks, and Johan thinks he has had perhaps one too many drinks. “He’ll mess everything up. The idiot.”

“What’s everything?”

“You. Me. This.” Jun makes a vague gestation towards Johan. He does not quite understand.

“Huh? Jun, you’re not makin’ sense, pard.”

Jun groans loudly, throws his hands up. “ _ This _ , Johan. This thing we have. Are you- are you  _ that  _ stupid? I like you, idiot. He’ll mess it up because he’s-” He pauses, hiccups. “He’s nicer than me and funnier and you’ll like him more.”

Johan freezes. “You like me?”

“That’s not the point. Point is-”

“ _ You _ like  _ me _ ?” he repeats, voice louder. Jun winces at the pitch. There’s a spell of silence, and in his drunkenness Jun begins to realize he has said something he shouldn’t. He stares into his empty bottle, wishing there were more so he could forget he ever did this.

Johan stares openly.

“I only meant it like-”

“Well, shoot! Ain’t that the best thing I’ve heard all night!”

When he looks up, Johan is smiling from ear to ear, cheeks flushed and ears red at the tips. His eyes are soft, shining brightly. It isn’t at all what he expected - he expected a disappointed visage, one with hollow eyes and a disapproving frown. Not this. Jun has to look away to stop the blood from rushing to his face.

“Jun. Did you think I didn’t know? Shucks, I’ve just been waitin’ for you to say it.”

“Shut up. I don’t want to hear you talk.”

He stares intently at Judai, who is dodging around the pool table in the arcade as Shou tries desperately to flee. He can hear his cackling clear from the alley.

“Jun. You think I’d sing karaoke for just anyone? I mean, gosh, I’m in hog heaven right now! I like you too, you grump!” Johan declares proudly, reaching across the table to take one of Jun’s hands in his own. It’s cold - so cold that Johan wonders if his blood circulates properly. He feels almost dead.

Jun blushes but pretends to ignore it. “Whatever.”

Johan chuckles. “Ever the same, aren’t ya? Hey. Wanna come by my place after this and binge some Cake Boss? We can talk too if you’d like.”

“I guess.” He shrugs.

“Good enough for me. Here, I’ll get ya some water. We gotta get a jump on that hangover.”

Jun grumbles that, no, he doesn’t want to get a jump on the hangover, that getting sick in the morning and feeling like shit is perfectly fine, thanks, but Johan is already walking away towards the refreshments. He finds he misses the warmth of Johan’s hand over his own.

His head drops onto the table and he curses himself. Curses Johan. Curses this night.

He hates being in love.


	4. IV

As much as Judai’s constant cackling is getting on his nerves, Jun wishes he could stay at the bowling alley forever.

It isn’t because he’s scared, because he  _ isn’t _ , and he makes a point of telling himself so over and over until he begins to believe it. There’s nothing to be scared of. It’s just going to Johan’s apartment and talking -  _ alone  _ \- and watching Cake Boss -  _ alone  _ \- while Jun is slightly drunk and more inclined to say stupid things. Stupid things like “I like you.” Again. Or “you’re really attractive, and I want to kiss you until my lips hurt.” Very stupid things. And a very possible reality.

The thought makes him shudder. He draws his coat closer around his chest, suddenly very cold.

* * *

After two more games, Judai is beat. He sets his bowling ball on the rack with an unceremonious thud, and promptly expresses a heavy, full-bodied sigh, groaning a bit too loudly as his shoulders slouch, knees bend slightly, neck cranes over. “I’m worn out, guys,” comes his simple utter.

Asuka and Shou exchange a look - as if to say, ‘finally’- and Shou, more than ready to leave and catch some much-needed sleep, pats Judai’s arm supportively as the brunette shrinks in on himself. “I’ll go pay. J, you can head to the car if you’d like.”

Judai nods, slow, and shuffles his feet sluggardly as he begins towards the exit.

“Oh - your shoes, J!” Shou calls, and Judai looks down. He’s still wearing the bowling shoes. With a groan, he slides out of them, stoops, and tosses them haphazardly at Shou. Somehow, amidst his fumbling for his wallet, Shou manages to catch them before they hit the floor. Judai flashes a tired thumbs-up.

“Thanks for the games, guys. I had a blast,” Judai says, morphing his thumbs-up into an open palm so he can wave goodbye to everyone. His eyes pass by Johan, Asuka, and land on Jun, who is still sitting at the table in front of the alley, hands worked through his hair, lips set into a frown. “See you later, Manjoume Thunder! Try not to scowl your way into yesterday, okay?”

Jun grunts. “Get home, slacker. You’re delirious.”

“Probably.” Judai shrugs, drops his hand to his side. “But you can’t argue with cheap booze. Hey, I’m gonna go, okay? Night!” And with that, he’s gone, slipping out the door into the cold November air.

In his socks.

Shou sighs. “That Judai. Asuka, could you grab his shoes for me? My hands are full.” She nods, makes her way back to the alleyside table where Judai’s boots are sitting on an otherwise empty chair. They reek, and she cringes visibly when she reaches for them.

“And that slacker says  _ I  _ don’t wash my clothes,” Jun snorts, catching sight of Asuka’s face - and wind of the smell.

“Yeah. Knowing Judai, he probably thinks not washing these is for luck or something. But he doesn’t need more luck. He believes in his deck, right? I should try to convince him to wash these.”

“Please.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Asuka is holding the shoes now, trying to keep them as far from her body as possible. She watches Shou for a moment, who is busy returning his and Judai’s bowling shoes, as well as paying the fee for the games. Johan is there too, chatting with the employee, who once again looks like he wants to crawl inside of a shell and hide there until Johan is gone. Jun is staring. Asuka notices. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he grumbles.

“Jun,” Asuka starts, and she makes room to take a seat across from him. The boots are placed on the table. Jun grimaces. “You’re not very hard to read, you know. Remember when you used to have a crush on me? I mean, come on. I  _ know  _ that look.”

“Say anything and my monsters will destroy you.”

She laughs. “Like you could defeat me. I’ve been building a new deck, and my Cyber Angels are stronger than ever. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that you need to loosen up. You’re so nervous and rigid that if I blew on you you’d probably fall over.”

He shrugs and folds his arms across his chest. “So what?”

“So, you’re not very subtle. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or what, but I figured you out in all of two seconds. How that Johan hasn’t noticed is beyond me.”

“I might have… told him…”

“Told him what?” Asuka asks, tone sharpening.

“That I like him. Look, I’m buzzed, okay? I can’t trust myself not to say things.”

“And how did he take it?” Her eyes intensify; she leans across the table just a little.

“He invited me over to watch Cake Boss. Which I think he was going to do anyway, because he’s Johan, and he’s weird.”

“Hm. You may have a point. Did he say he wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.”

“That can either be great or terrible.” Asuka taps a forefinger against her lips, thinking.

“He sang karaoke for me earlier today,” Jun adds, ears flushing red at the tips. It’s a bit of an embarrassing detail to point out - whether it’s embarrassing for him or for Johan, he can’t decide. But he didn’t want to reveal it. He blames the admittance on his drunkenness.

Asuka’s lips form an ‘o,’ and she places her palms flat on the table, pushing herself to her feet suddenly. “He did?” she gasps. Her eyes are wide. “Jun, that’s a huge sign. He almost definitely likes you. You’ve got to go for it! Remember how you used to incessantly flirt with me? Try that. If he’s into you, he’ll pick up what you lay down.”

“And if he isn’t?”

Asuka’s face softens into a smile. She picks up the boots again. “Then, like me, he’ll still be your friend.”

_ I don’t want him as just a friend, _ he thinks. But then, he used to think the same about Asuka, and they ended up okay. He sighs, and looks down at his feet, which still have the bowling shoes over them. He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want things to not work out. Again.

A sigh. Jun slips out of his bowling shoes and bends over to replace them with his loafers. When he looks up, Asuka is gone, making her way to the rental stand with her bowling shoes in one hand and Judai’s boots in the other. They are held far away from her body, just like before. Jun breathes a small laugh.

Everything is a blur as he stands up, head swirling. He saunters to the rental stand, places his shoes on the counter, lets Johan handle the payment - since he insisted. The employee prints a receipt, hands it to Johan. They exit the building, leaving behind a night of fun for a night of conversations that Jun is dreading. His head spins as the bitter air slaps him in the face; his legs sway as he follows Johan down the street to where his apartment is -  _ “it’s not a far walk from here, you’ll be okay, I think.”  _ All the while Johan is talking, rambling about this and that and Asuka was really good, don’t you think? I’m a bit intimidated. And Jun grunts in response and Johan carries on, talking about the strikes he got and the strikes he didn’t get and that bowling alley cheated me, how was I only one pin away? But Jun isn’t paying much attention. He hums when he needs to, nods when the timing feels right. Johan doesn’t seem to notice. He just carries on, like he always does: wholly unbothered. He’s hard to read. Jun does not like this fact.

“Here we are,” Johan says at last, and it’s something Jun can latch onto because it spells the beginning of his doom. The apartment complex stands before them, but Jun doesn’t get much time to survey it since Johan yanks him inside, desperate to get out of the cold. They take the elevator to the fourth floor -  _ “gotta say, pal, I’m not trusting you with stairs right now”  _ \- and walk down the hall, to the left, past 4A to apartment 4B. The number and letter on the door are gilded, reflecting a distorted image of himself and Johan. Jun squints at his own face. Does he really look that sad?

Johan fishes a key from his pocket and unlocks the door. It creaks open, and Jun is ushered inside. He holds his breath.

Johan’s apartment is more humble than Jun had expected. It’s just barely furnished; there’s a small, cerulean sofa, a peeling leather recliner, and an old television propped up on a low oak table. The kitchen blends into the living room, the only division being where the linoleum stops and hits carpet. An island stands half on the carpet and half on the linoleum, the countertop a polished stone that looks like granite but probably isn’t. A bowl of fruit sits in the middle of the island, next to an assortment of candles and open ramen packets. Jun snorts.

From the doorway, he can peer into the bedroom, where a queen sized bed sits, unmade, in the center of the room. An abstract painting hangs above the headboard; a lit up tank containing a small, bumbling turtle sits on the nightstand.

“That’s Pierre. The turtle,” Johan says, catching Jun staring. “He’s real sweet.”

“Pierre.”

“Yep!”

Jun blinks rapidly, trying to suppress an eye roll. _ Pierre. _ “That sounds more like a name for a cactus.”

“You name your house plants?”

“No.”  _ Yes. _

“Well, that’s a shame. It sounds like a mighty fine idea. Anyway, go on, make yourself at home! You can help yourself to anything in the pantry or fridge if you’d like. Mostly just noodles n’ leftovers.”

Jun nods, though he is far from hungry right now. He steps on the heel of his right shoe, pulls it off, then does the same with the left. He leaves them by the door, in the foyer that does not exist.

“You ready for some Cake Boss, Jun?”

Johan is already in the living room, turning on his Roku to fire up Netflix. Jun notes that his boots are still on, and he cringes. “I guess.”

“Aw, c’mon, Jun. It’ll be fun. If you don’t like it, I’ll put on a movie or something.”

Jun dithers for a moment, finds this agreeable and, after watching Pierre climb onto his rock for light, shuffles into the living room, very much afraid to sit down, very much afraid to face Johan. But the sofa, albeit ratty and losing its color, looks comfortable enough, and so he resigns himself to the right corner of it - far away from Johan. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to be close to him - quite the opposite, really - but he’s afraid that if he sits too close, Johan will find it odd. Find it odd and remember earlier. Find it odd and question him about why he said he liked him. So he sinks into his seat, solemn, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his eyes resting blankly on the television. Johan is silent.

“Cake Boss okay with you?” he asks at last, finger hovering over the select button on his remote.

“Fine,” Jun responds. He hugs his knees closer.

Without a moment’s pause, Johan presses the remote and settles back into his spot on the sofa. The show begins, and Jun isn’t paying attention. He’s deep in his head, lost in his whirling thoughts. Lost in the ebbing and flowing of the tide. One moment, it’s like he’s close enough to brush his fingers against the shore, and the next his body is being dragged down to a dark oblivion, at the center of a whirlpool, rushing, sinking, choking. In the depths he can’t breathe. His heart is lurching in his chest, hammering against his ribs; his lungs are burning, and he can’t open his mouth to scream for fear of the water overtaking him. So he is silent, he is holding his breath, waiting, waiting.

Buddy Valastro is detailing plans for his next visionary cake, and Jun is drowning in his head.

Johan notices.

In a split second there’s a hand on Jun’s shoulder, and the contact makes him nearly jump out of his skin. He’s startled, startled out of his head, startled back into reality, and his breaths come fast and heavy, like he hasn’t tasted air in minutes. Johan has tuned out Buddy Valastro, focused wholly on Jun. His eyes betray concern. Jun’s stomach tightens, and he shrugs off Johan’s hand.

“You okay, pard?” comes the dreaded question.

“Fine. Go back to your show.”

“Jun, you know you’re a bad liar, right?”

“Maybe you’re just bad at reading people, you slacker.”

Johan throws him a quizzical look. “Isn’t that what you call Judai?”

“It applies to you too,” Jun huffs.

“Won’t argue with that one. Hey, you know I’m happy to listen if you’ve got something on your mind. Didn’t you say you wanted to talk?”

“No.” Jun feels himself beginning to recede into his own body, hugging his legs closer, putting his chin on his knees. He looks meek, looks vulnerable, and he hates it. He wishes he was more guarded, more strong. But he cannot fix the crumbling walls that surround him, torn down by gentle, patient hands. Sometimes, he loathes Johan.

“Shucks, I’m just tryin’ to help. Your body language is awful… defensive, you know? I’m not gonna bite.”

“I said I don’t want to talk,” he snaps, far more angrily than intended. He regrets his tone right away, seeing Johan flinch back and, after a moment’s deliberation, return to his side of the couch.

“Sure thing. I’ll just… be over here. If you need me.” Johan smiles weakly and casts his eyes back to the screen, though he struggles to pay any real attention to the layer of fondant being rolled over top of the red velvet cake Buddy is decorating.

Jun sighs nasally and his eyes close. “...I’m sorry. Look. If you want to talk. I’m listening.”

“It’s just… you’ve been off lately, you know? Like you’re tryin’ to hide something. Ain’t anything wrong with that, course, but, you know, you can trust me. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just like I know you ain’t gonna hurt me. You may act all sharp and thorny but I know you’re not really like that. You’ve got a good heart.”

“You clearly don’t know me.”

“But that’s the thing, Jun.” And Johan shifts, turns his body towards Jun. He pulls his legs up onto the couch, sits criss-cross. His hands lay in his lap, fingers doing an odd dance with one another. “I do. And I know you’re a better person than you’re lettin’ yourself believe. Ain’t so bad to be vulnerable, really. Give it a try and I guarantee you’ll find it’s better than bein’ on guard all the time.”

“Prove it.”

Johan exhales a breathy laugh. “Alright. Shoot. I’m an open book, y’know? Ain’t much I don’t lay out there. But tonight, I took a big ol’ chance. Karaoke is scary somethin’ fierce. I just about dropped that mic darn near five times. Did you notice? Though, I reckon you weren’t even lookin’ at me.” He shakes his head. There’s a mild look of disappointment written on his face - not an angry one, just crestfallen. “But that was my moment. Vulnerability, I mean. All those people got to see me nervous and scared because I was layin’ my heart bare.”

Jun raises his eyes a fraction of a meter. Johan is staring at his hands, picking at his nails. He wonders if it’s a nervous tic.

“I liked it,” Jun grumbles, just barely audible. “The song. You have… a nice voice.”

“Thanks.” Johan is smiling now, but fainter than usual. Somehow, it seems more real.

“You said you practiced it?”

“Every day in the shower. And maybe in front of the mirror a few times,” Johan admits, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck.

“Why?”

“Because it’s how I feel. About you, y’know?”

Jun draws a slow, contemplative breath. “Explain,” he says, and his voice is little more than a whisper.

“Aw, I know you’re not that dense. Do I gotta?” Johan asks, but one imploring glance from Jun is all the answer he needs.  _ Please. _ So he straightens his spine, collects himself. “Shoot. Alright. Look, that song wasn’t random. I’ve been searchin’ for a long time to find the words that describe just how I feel about you. And those lyrics… they’re kinda perfect. We might not know  _ everything  _ about each other, course, but we sure know a lot. I’ve gotten so close to you since Duel Academy that I just… well, shucks. I really feel like I’m myself the most when I’m around you. So, I guess I’m just tryin’ to say…”

Jun doesn't even realize he has been holding his breath until his throat begins to close up and his lungs burn. He ignores it. He couldn't breathe if he wanted to.

“...I like you.”


End file.
